


One Hundred Angels

by letmegeekatyou



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Consensual Violence, Gen, M/M, Mark of Cain, the violence isn't really that graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1517216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmegeekatyou/pseuds/letmegeekatyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can Castiel pull Dean back from the edge when the Mark takes over?</p><p>Written for sopranish on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Hundred Angels

The Mark was bent on destruction. It burned in Dean’s veins like a fever, an insatiable hunger to kill rising in him, and the more he fought, the stronger that desire grew. Demons, monsters, it didn’t matter; all he could think of was tearing down anything that stood in his path. Sam kept himself at a distance, frantically researching the Mark and looking for a solution, but Dean knew it was only a matter of time before he would be forced to kill his brother. We all have a destiny, and he had chosen this one, not realizing what it meant. He also had not realized, infected as he was by the Mark’s influence, that he was walking into a trap.

It was supposed to be a vampire nest, all the signs pointed to it, but as he broke down the door of the dilapidated old house that night (no need to be quiet, he was stronger with the Mark than any vampire), something was off. It was too clean inside, full of dust, yes, but none of the debris that vampire squatters leave behind. So he walked, cautiously, up the narrow, twisting staircase, checking each hall and room, until he found himself in a dark, low-ceilinged attic, full of trunks and sheet-covered furniture, faint moonlight creeping in through a vent at one end.

"Hello, Dean." Dean spun, pulling a long knife from his belt but already knowing that it would do no good. There, in the meager light, Castiel stood like a ghost. No weapon, no urgency to his body, just standing there, waiting.

"No. No, Cas, you  _know_ what I am. You  _know_ what I have to do. Goddammit, you have to get out of—argh!” His hand spasmed, clenching involuntarily around the knife, and he felt the blood lust rise in him. “Cas…please…get out of here…” But the fire of the Mark was creeping up his limbs, locking his tendons, tightening his muscles until he couldn’t speak, and he felt an irresistible urge to move forward, toward Cas, knife outstretched.

"Dean, I am not going anywhere. You know, I had a whole army of angels at my disposal. They are…strangely loyal to me, despite everything. I suppose they remember me as I was before I fell…" Dean tried to stop, but his desire and his body overwhelmed his mind. It was worse than possession: he  _wanted_ to kill Cas. “They offered their assistance. Offered to help me kill you, but I said no.

"Do what you have to do, Dean. I understand. I am not going to leave you."

And he didn’t. He only stood there, and the pair stared at one another, as they had always done, for a brief minute before Dean surged forward, tears falling down his face as he thrust the knife between Cas’s ribs.

And then, suddenly, everything was bright, like a lightening flash in the dim attic, casting bizarre shadows on the low ceiling and searing Dean’s eyes. He instinctively tried to pull his hand back, but it wouldn’t come: grace poured out of Cas’s wound, wrapping around the blade, twisting up Dean’s arm to engulf the mark, burning like ice on his skin and then in his veins as it entered him.

"I would not let them kill you, Dean. So they offered me their grace instead. The grace of a hundred angels, all inside me, all entrusted to me." Cas spoke quietly, in an awed voice, profoundly aware of the risk his brothers and sisters had taken on him. "Because I had such faith in you. They believed you could be freed of the Mark, purified, if I only had the power." The grace flowed through his whole body now, and the toxic desires that had filled him began to recede, leaving him dizzy.

As the last tendrils of grace slipped back into Cas and the wound closed behind them, Dean collapsed in the dust, dropping the knife at Cas’s feet.

"Cas…I’m—" But the tears that had started earlier, when he had driven the knife into his friend’s body, came faster now, and he choked on the words. In a moment, Cas was kneeling beside him.

"I know," he whispered, holding Dean against his chest. "I’m here. You are going to be alright, Dean." So Dean buried his face in Cas’s neck, and they stayed there, clinging to each other in the dust and dark until the sun came up.


End file.
